


Of Medic and Sword

by MagicRobot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Light Bondage, M/M, Sticky Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicRobot/pseuds/MagicRobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Dratchet fics of all genres and ratings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All of these were commissioned by the lovely genericfangirl on tumblr

Drift was beautiful like this. He was a lovely bot in general, but with the way his curves seemed to ripple and his frame just screamed ecstasy as he rode Ratchet’s spike, it gave him a special sort of sensual beauty. His helm was thrown back far enough that his finials nearly scraped his back, his optics shut as he focused on the pleasure. A low moan escaped his vocalizer, the calipers in his valve squeezing Ratchet’s spike in all the right way. 

The whole scene was entirely too erotic for Ratchet to handle and he squirmed on the berth, trying to drive his spike further into that intoxicating heat. A smirk wormed its way onto Drift’s faceplate, his pace slowing into tiny rolls of his hips. His thighs gripped Rachet firmly, keeping him from bucking into him.

Ratchet growled, moving to grip those luscious hips and penetrate that valve even further. He was stopped, however, by Drift’s tight grip on his wrists, keeping him pinned to the berth. Any attempt to escape was thwarted and Ratchet twisted helplessly. Drift may have been smaller than him, but he was  _strong_.  

"Damn it, Drift," exclaimed Ratchet in frustration. 

Drift paused, his valve held still over the tip of Ratchet’s spike. An aggravated moan came from beneath him. He chuckled, a wicked grin morphing onto his face. 

"What’s wrong, Ratchet?" he purred. His valve clenched rhythmically and he stared at Ratchet with the sort of innocence only one caught up in the middle of fragging could manage. "Did I hurt you? Should we stop?" Drift’s valve cycled down hard on the spike, the calipers inside nearly choking the appendage.

A choked groan came from Ratchet. “Fragging tease.” 

Leaning over the medic, Drift gave a coy smile. His valve spasmed more, clearly wanting to continue, but having too much fun teasing Ratchet. His plating was hot, nearly burning Ratchet’s plating. There was a ticking coming from his engine and Ratchet knew that he just as revved up as he was.

Now, it was Ratchet’s turn to smirk. “Why don’t you let me go so I can show you exactly what’s wrong?” Drift was close enough so Ratchet was able to sneak his glossa out and run it against one of his finials.

The white mech pulled back, shuddering in pleasure. He sank a bit further onto the spike, but not enough to satisfy either of them. He loved having this sort of power over Ratchet and he wasn’t prepared to give it up so quickly. “What’s the magic word?”

Venting harshly, Ratchet grunted quietly, “Please.”

"Hmmm…I didn’t quite catch that," said Drift, bouncing ever so slightly on Ratchet’s spike, making sure the calipers stayed nice and snug. A trail of lubricant seeped from where they connected, running down Drift’s thigh.

Ratchet huffed, trying very hard not to stare at the fluid. He cleared his vocalizer purposely. With as much firmness as he could manage, he said, “please.”

Smiling brightly, Drift gave a quick peck to Ratchet’s lips before sliding the rest of the shaft. He gave a throaty moan, trailing his servos away from Ratchet’s wrists to rest them on the older mech’s chest plating. When he was finally seated the rest of the way, Ratchet wasted no time in gripping Drift’s hips and slamming him onto his spike in rapid succession.

Drift gasped at the sudden violence, before it morphed into a pleasant moan. His helm lolled to the side, his servos balled up into fists where they lay. Biting his lip, he tried to meet Ratchet’s thrusting, but failed. Finally, he settled on allowing the medic complete control, his servos cupping Drift’s thighs as he rammed into him.

The pleasure built between them, both knowing that wouldn’t be able to last long. Drift shrieked when Ratchet managed to hit his ceiling node. The medic sat up, mouthing at Drift’s neck cabling, his vents cycling fast and hard in Drift’s audio.

A pool of lubricants was beginning to form between them. Drift gave one final arc against Ratchet before screaming out the other mech’s name and overloading hard. He collapsed onto Ratchet’s chest, completely strutless. Ratchet gave a few more thrusts before overloading himself with a shout.

Ratchet collapsed to the berth, wrapping his arms around the white mech’s waist. The other was already in-recharge, and Ratchet decided to follow suit soon after.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some pre-Delphi fluff

For a medic, Ratchet had a terrible time of taking care of himself. He sometimes worked for cycles on very little recharge and even less fuel. It was unhealthy, ironic, considering how often he berated others for their ways. No one could argue that Ratchet wasn’t completely dedicated to his job. Dedication could only bring one so far, though, before basic needs got in the way. Unfortunately, Ratchet had a habit of pushing himself way past those limits.

Drift walked through the corridors of the  _Lost Light,_ three heartily full cubes balanced between his servos. Ratchet had been absent from their quarters for the past four cycles by now, and he knew exactly what the medic was up to. Normally, Drift wouldn’t both Ratchet on his shift, but the other had been absent for quite some time. He knew Ratchet, knew how he was with his work, and knew that he probably hadn’t fueled nor recharged since the cycle he left.

It was late in the night-cycle. Ratchet wasn’t even supposed to work this late. There were no major emergencies going on right now, so there was no reason for Ratchet to still he here. Huffing, Drift pushed open the medbay doors, carefully stepping in as to not spill any of the precious energy. He spotted Ratched organizing his tools in the corner.

Ratchet was muttering to himself. His face looked haggard and tired. A soft sigh escaped Drift. He placed the cubes in front of Ratchet. The medic paused, turning around to scowl at Drift.

"Can’t you see I’m working here?"

Drift rolled his optics. “You’ve been working non-stop for the past four cycles. I brought you some energon. I doubt you’ve had anything lately.” He looked pointedly at the cubes. He smiled when Ratchet snatched up a cube and guzzled it down quickly.

"Yeah, well, we just go a new supply shipment and I’ve had to organize and catalog everything. Then it seemed like every idiot on the ship had to get themselves injured in some way and, of course, I had to take care of that." He finished with the cube, tossing it off to the side. He grabbed another, drinking this one much slower.

Drift studied Ratchet’s tired features. “I think some of this can wait.” 

Ratchet grunted, prepared to protest when Drift abruptly snatched his wrist, dragging him away from the work station. His body was too tired to fight, and instead allowed Drift to drag him to their quarters. There was a grumbled, “never get anything done with this one.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another cute thingy

The sweet smell of incense wafted over Ratchet’s olfactory sensors. He coughed at the intensity of it, onlining his optics to glare at the other occupant of the room.

"Do you mind?" he groused, shifting on the berth until he was sitting up. He slouched, rubbing at his tired optics. Ratchet wasn’t a morning person on a good cycle, let alone when his idiot lover decided to awaken him so rudely.

Huffing, he watched Drift mill about the room with the burning stick, a plume of smoke following in his wake. He seemed to be in some sort of trance; him face serene and his posture completely relaxed. Ratchet would have found the sight alluring, if he wasn’t feeling so surly.

Drift hummed as he walked. He stopped when he noticed Ratchet’s alertness. He smiled warmly, approaching the berth with the still lit incense. “Hmm…? Oh, I was just cleansing the room of negative energy.”

The fact that it was said with such casualness only seemed to sour Ratchet’s mood more. He coughed, the smoke irritating his vents. “Well, I was trying to sleep. Couldn’t you have waited?”

Drift tilted his helm cutely, a look of genuine confusion on his face. Ratchet would have hit him if he wasn’t still slightly groggy. “But it’s customary to cleanse the room before prayer. Otherwise the negativity will spoil the purity of the words.”

Ratchet groaned. “I don’t really give a damn about your, ‘purity.’” His shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

“Did I wake you?” asked Drift, snuffing out the incense. He strode over to the berth, laying a servo upon Ratchet’s shoulder. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to do that.” He gave a warm smile. “But, morning prayer is the most important part of the cycle.”

Ratchet swatted his hand away. “I know that, you glitch.” His frown deepened. “I just don’t understand why you have to have your “morning prayer” here.” He emphasized his words with air quotes. Normally, Drift’s routine wouldn’t bother him, but since he hadn’t been getting the proper amount of recharge lately, he was banking on being able to sleep-in on his off-cycle. Of course, that proved fruitless.

“Yeah, but this is my room, too,” smirked Drift. He turned and sauntered over the mat laid out in the middle of the suite, sitting in the traditional cross-legged position. “Don’t look so upset Ratchet, as soon as I’m done here, we can get some breakfast.”

Ratchet grumbled to himself, but couldn’t bring himself to be as upset as he could be with Drift.


End file.
